


Waiting to Finally Be Caught

by phenanthrene_blue



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Ambiguity, Everything Hurts, First Time, Flash Forward, M/M, Off-Season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16371713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenanthrene_blue/pseuds/phenanthrene_blue
Summary: Now what?Does he go home? Does he pick up his phone and text something vaguely apologetic yet not well-thought out?Does he just stand there, hoping for a resolution less disastrous than the preceding events?





	Waiting to Finally Be Caught

It starts with a phone call, a loud, startling buzz that nearly causes Nolan’s phone to vibrate off the table.

It’s late in November, which is baseball’s most uneventful month. Nolan is flopped on the couch, drifting in and out of a lazy nap, currently way more out than in. The disappointing end of the season has faded into the rear-view mirror, and the only people who call Nolan, now spending a few weeks at his parents’ house in Newport Beach, are scammers and the occasional friend he hasn’t heard from in a decade. After the third buzz, he decides he’s kind of bored and answers.

_What’s happenin’, dude?_

_Not much._

Of course Nolan recognizes his voice, and just shrugs and listens. Christian says he’s in town visiting some old friends, and he’s got a night where he’s got nothing to do because someone bailed at the last minute, and he wonders if Nolan might like to grab dinner.

Nolan accepts, and figures a couple hours of harmless drinking and bullshitting might be good to break the monotony.

_How the hell did Christian get his number, anyway?_

***

They go to some preposterously yuppie place downtown, with copper mugs and orange lights in the palm trees, which Nolan actually finds less pretentious than he thought he would. 

It’s 8PM, under a brisk November sky, and they’re pretty much the only people in the place. There’s incense burning in the air somewhere, soft jazz floating in from the distance, and the seclusion is welcoming. It’s nice to not be recognized _everywhere_ by _everyone_ for once. 

Nolan doesn’t know Christian very well, and everything is a bit forced at first, punctuated by uneasy silence, but they eat and knock back a couple mules and start remembering the World Baseball Classic and there’s a bit of no-hard-feelings badinage of the my-team-knocked-yours-out-of-the-playoffs variety. Time, fortunately, has dulled that edge considerably for Nolan, and now he just rolls his eyes at it all.

They talk about their parents, their off-season workouts, what it was like playing for the Pennant (even though it didn’t go in Milwaukee’s favor, which Christian is still mildly irritated about), and everything becomes easy and fluid, especially when the conversation grounds itself on how much they miss the game.

And that’s where things turn a bit wistful, but there’s something oddly familiar about the way Christian smiles, and how he leans forward with his elbows on the table when he listens. He’s extremely charismatic and Nolan likes it, and as time passes, he realizes his feelings also seem familiar, like there’s a sense of deja vu. Nolan’s been _here_ before, but he can’t articulate it. Whatever’s creeping around the edges of his head commingles with the three drinks he’s had and it makes Nolan feel warm inside.

Just after ten, Christian checks his phone.

“I’m staying downtown tonight.” He says. “I got a whole backlog of movies on my laptop that I’ve been meaning to see. Pirated shit. If you’ve got a couple hours…wanna watch one?”

“Sure. I haven’t seen _Venom_ yet.”

Nolan’s palms are sweating unnecessarily when _nothing about this should be anxiety-inducing._

_C’mon, man, it’s just a fucking movie!_

***

They walk back to the hotel, a fancy place with marble and oversized vases of fresh flowers in the lobby, and ride the elevator up to Christian’s room. He’s got a suite, with nice carpet and a prime view, and a short hallway leading away from the door.

“So.” Christian says as soon as the door clicks closed. “Are we doing _Venom_? Or would you prefer a romantic comedy?” 

“Cram it.” Nolan replies. 

“Why should _I_ cram it?” Christian jokes. “I think you’re the one who secretly wants to watch a chick-flick over here. Not that I really care.”

Christian’s got an obnoxious grin and Nolan gives him a solid two-handed shove in the back, and Christian responds by pushing him back playfully, but there’s not quite enough space in the small hallway for both of them and Nolan is suddenly backed up against the door, with Christian standing just a few inches away, hands still slightly outstretched, fingertips with just the lightest touch on Nolan’s shirt.

Christian smiles again, exhales very slowly, and turns his eyes to the floor. 

_That weird familiar feeling again. He’s right on the boundary between excitement and a panic attack. Nolan’s heart rate is almost_ too _fast. It’s like watching a high popup that stays in the air for too long before it starts to come down, waiting to finally be caught._

And everything becomes silent, but comprehendible nonetheless. Christian pushes upward onto Nolan’s chest, leans in, and kisses him. It’s gentle and almost inquisitive, like he’s asking for permission. Nolan isn’t quite sure that he _should be doing this_ , but Christian’s lips are soft and sweet and it’s enough to make everything rise to a rapid flash point. Nolan fights forward against him, kissing him _harder_ , and Christian just keeps escalating in turn, grinding Nolan back against the door, palm tight against his jaw, drawing Nolan’s lower lip into his mouth. It’s desperate and messy and getting way out of hand. Nolan loves feeling the warmth of Christian’s weight pressed against him, and he tangles his arms around Christian’s waist and shivers when Christian’s fingers trace slowly up his neck.

When Nolan feels himself getting hard, his dick starting to push against front of his jeans, he decides he’s had enough. The reason is incomprehensible beyond that it’s _just too much_ , a giant surge of emotion and electricity that overwhelms and frightens him. _Still. Somehow._ _He’s been here before, and that disturbs him_. He pulls away quickly and places a warning hand on Christian’s collarbone.

“ _I can’t._ ”

“You okay?”

Christian is breathing fast, his lips pink and wet, the pupils of his dark eyes huge. “ _Not gonna finish what you started, Nolan?”_

“No.” Nolan grits his teeth _._ “It’s just…just stop, okay?”

“ _Are_ you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” Nolan can’t really form the words properly. “I’m sorry.” 

Christian hisses a breath out through his teeth and shakes his head. He says it’s _all right_ , that he _understands_ , that _this happens_ , but then he extracts his hands from Nolan’s shoulders, turns around, and simply walks away silently, leaving Nolan standing in the darkened, tiny hallway.

_Well, shit. How did this night go so utterly wrong, so fast?_

_He’s been here before. But no matter how much Nolan thinks, and he thinks until he believes it may devour him, he just can’t place it._

***

Now what?

_Does he go home? Does he pick up his phone and text something vaguely apologetic yet not well-thought out? Does he just stand there, hoping for a resolution less disastrous than the preceding events?_

Nolan does the last, standing there, fiddling intermittently with his phone, deliberating for what feels like three days. It’s dark, the only light on somewhere down the hall, and he breathes slowly, trying to dispel the knots in his guts, and decides to walk inside. He hears nothing, and he can’t even fully contemplate what uncertainties could transpire before he notices that Christian is just _standing_ there.

He’s wearing his batting gloves, white striped with navy, which seem to interrupt the pronounced veins of his arms and wrists, and Nolan notices curls of Christian’s almost-black hair sticking out from under his batting helmet, providing little contrast to the shiny, recognizable dark blue.

It makes almost no sense, and he’d find it funny, and he’s sure Christian would’ve meant it that way. A bit of détente to take the bite off the whole thing. 

If it weren’t for the fact that _that’s_ all _that Christian is wearing_. 

Christian is thin, all arms and legs, but chiseled and defined; wiry; scrappy; fucking _immaculate_. His skin is a half-tone paler than Nolan’s, and the tiny trail of hair leading downward from his navel and everything _below that_ is dark, like the hair on his head. His cock, long like the rest of him, is standing fully erect, and all Nolan can do is _stare_ , a heavy blush crashing across his cheeks and flooding downward inside his shirt. Christian grins again, and Nolan feels the edges of all doubt curling up inside him like ignited paper. 

_It’s almost like Christian somehow knows exactly how to wipe out his inhibitions; knows precisely what drives Nolan out of his skull. Dear Lord._

“What, you’ve never seen another player naked before?” Christian asks him sarcastically. “You guys shower in little stalls in Colorado or something?”

“Context, _asshole_.” Nolan says breathlessly, walking in front of Christian and raising his hands to just above the spot where Christian’s neck meets his shoulders. “May I?”

“I’m not a monk, dude. _Please._ ” 

And Nolan lets his hands fall, cascading down Christian’s biceps as he claims his mouth in another needy kiss. He frees Christian’s hands from his batting gloves and sets them down on the floor. Everything’s hurried and erratic, and he lets his lips move downwards, over Christian’s Adam’s apple, across the hollow of his throat, at the same time using his hands to massage small circles over Christian’s shoulder blades. He’s coming completely unraveled now, stroking down Christian’s spine, dragging his teeth over one of his nipples, and Christian tenses and lets his head fall back with a small noise that’s half-groan and half-giggle. Nolan is proud of himself, haughty and aroused beyond reproach, and he chuckles, swatting a hand upward, knocking Christian’s helmet to the floor with a muffled thud. 

Nolan kisses down Christian’s chest, more teeth than anything else, and lowers himself further, his hands rubbing over the younger man’s narrow hips and the swell of his ass. And then Nolan is on his knees, tongue greedily licking down his stomach before he parts his own lips with the head of Christian’s cock. 

“ _Shit._ ” Christian whimpers. Nolan obliges him further, taking more of him into his mouth, sucking and tonguing, up and down, working him over with a lot of saliva and slow motions. Christian doesn’t say much, he just runs his hands through Nolan’s short hair, blunt nails clawing slightly at his scalp, and Nolan tastes salt and slickness and that’s all the reassurance he needs. 

“Bed.” Christian says, tugging at the collar of Nolan’s shirt. “And this. _Off._ ” Nolan lets Christian take the top two buttons as he stands up and pulls his shirt the rest of the way off. _He’s going out of his mind, so lost in the deep chocolate pools of Christian’s eyes that he forgets what he’s doing for a moment, but Christian starts undoing his belt and he_ remembers.

And then Nolan is free of his clothes and on the bed, on top of Christian, who is suckling at the side of his neck and touching Nolan _everywhere_. It’s affectionate, almost _reverent_ , and Christian’s skin feels so good against his, soft heat with the slightest bit of sweat. Nolan lets himself fall between Christian’s legs, kneeing his thighs apart. He licks his finger generously, ducking back down to get Christian’s cock back in his mouth at the same time as he pushes the tip of his finger just inside of him. And he holds still and breathes a few sharp breaths, watching his own saliva wantonly leak down onto Christian’s balls, letting himself be completely overpowered by his presence.

Nolan is pretty inexperienced and is almost certain Christian is too, and he guides his finger in very slowly, asking repeatedly and nervously _how it feels_ and _if it’s good_ and Christian keeps nodding and tugging at Nolan’s hair, which is barely long enough to be pulled. They lock eyes again as Nolan sucks him off, and he feels Christian starting to relax around his finger and Nolan starts to work in a second. In a moment he finds _that_ spot inside and hooks his two fingers a little, and Christian’s voice is _completely_ totaled. 

“Fuck, Nolan. _Right_ there.” He pleads. Nolan doesn’t stop, but leans in, spits on his fingers more, and shoves them further into Christian’s ass. Harder, into the same spot, and Nolan grips the younger man’s cock firmly in his other hand, and Christian jerks his head to the side and arches off the bed. Nolan loves this. He is just _wrecking_ Christian, and it’s stupidly, _horrifically_ hot. He could come from just watching the way he reacts alone. 

Nolan leans off the bed and finds his jeans, one hand still busy, the other fumbling in the back pocket. He thinks he might have put a condom in his wallet several months ago. _It’s right where he remembered_ , he thinks, tearing the foil packet open.

Soon, Nolan slots a pillow under Christian’s hips, and slowly replaces his fingers inside Christian with his cock. Despite the prep and Nolan’s deliberateness, Christian is still _so_ tight, and Nolan has to go slow, with the lightest flicks of his hips. The back of Nolan’s knees are burning. _He can’t take it._ He’s not going to last long, buried to the hilt in the hot vice that is Christian, with this _perfect_ friction and Christian just gritting his teeth and staring him down. Nolan’s rhythm is gentle, almost tentative, and Christian wraps his legs around Nolan’s waist and yanks him down by his hair. It _hurts_ , but in their closeness he gets his hand back around Christian’s dick, stroking irregularly, thumb brushing over the sensitive head.

Nolan can only get about a dozen more thrusts in this position before Christian loses it, coming all over Nolan’s hand and both their stomachs, and the noise he makes even _sounds_ painful as it’s wrenched from his throat.

He watches Christian’s face, sees his dark lashes flutter closed with pleasure as his whole body seizes, and _there’s_ the point of no return. Nolan feels his hips start to stutter quickly then and his orgasm just _devastates_ him. It’s agonizing; his back bowing, nails digging into Christian’s ass, shouting Christian’s name at the ceiling, completely shameless and enraptured. 

“God _damn_.” Christian whispers, again and _again_ , wiping away the sweat beading at his forehead, fingers snaking through his dampened locks. “God fuckin’ _damn_.”

And Nolan kisses him, letting Christian moan a string of amazed profanities against his mouth until both of them catch their breath.

_He could shoot this through his veins and die, willingly and happily._

_It’s the most erotic night of Nolan’s life._

***

They watch _Venom_ anyway. Nolan texts his mom that he’s _had a bit too much to drink and is crashing with a friend_ so that she doesn’t worry.

Christian gets the lights and puts the movie on his laptop, and they flop down on the bed in just their underwear, with Nolan settling down behind Christian. 

The movie is fun, but Nolan is only half-watching, focusing on his breathing, regular and warm against the back of Christian’s neck, and he loses track of time.

It’s comfortable, and Nolan lets himself fall asleep very easily.

***

And then Nolan wakes up with a start, sweaty and out of breath and tangled in the sheets, his heart careening around wildly in his chest. 

The room comes into focus faster than Nolan would like. He’s _awake_. He’s in his bedroom in his parents’ house, the sun unwelcome and harsh through the closed shades.

He realizes what has happened all too quickly.

It’s the day after Thanksgiving. Nolan’s brothers and cousins were all over. There was turkey and Cuban barbecue, laughter and pie, mojitos and so much _whiskey_ , and he had eaten and drank too much and wandered off to bed at 2AM after losing another poker hand.

_And fucking damn it, it happened again. He had another one of those_ dreams.

_The last one was the night after the Rockies were eliminated, just a whole bunch of insult piled on top of injury. And he had been startled awake, interrupted, and pulled into the light by his teammates and his coaches._

It took him two weeks to rationalize it as just a dream, to forget it, but he thought he had done it, and he was enjoying his off-season, forgetting the disappointing October and liking his family time. But now it’s _happened again,_ and he’ll have to stumble around confused and anxious without the distraction of the season for God-knows-how-long.

Nolan is ashamed, but he’s turned on, rock-hard, and he grabs the lotion from in his bedside table and squeezes it all over his hands.

This time, he won’t _forget_. _He won’t let himself forget._

He’s tense everywhere, yearning for some sort of relief, and jerks himself off quickly, remembering the last shreds of what his unconsciousness had given him. Nolan squeezes his eyes shut, remembering how everything was so lucid, so _liquid_ and perfectly captured in his head. _Of_ course _it was familiar. He’d felt it all before._

He sighs and mouths wordlessly to himself when he comes. _God._ _Christian._ Fuck you _,_ _Christian!_

But there’s no afterglow. Nolan stares at the ceiling blankly, and reality falls, all rubble and shrapnel around him. He struggles to remember more, wanting to be consumed _again_ by every delicious detail, but the invading daybreak is now starting to ruin his memory. It’s ruined _everything._

He pounds his fist angrily against the comforter, and Nolan feels terrible, angry and sick to his stomach, twisted by a dopamine hangover and wracked with sheer longing.

_And there is nothing he can do._

_Because Christian, as Nolan knows him in his head, under the cover of night, does not exist._

_He is a product of Nolan’s subconscious, a seductive hologram projected by alcohol and neurotransmitters and so much repressed shit that Nolan can’t be bothered to make himself deal with. Nothing more and nothing less._

_He is forced, all at once, to remind himself that Christian is almost certainly straight, and even if he weren’t, why would he think about_ Nolan _, someone he sees maybe twice per year, separated by divisions and geography and mental wiring?_

_Because he wouldn’t, that’s why._

Nolan is so frustrated he could cry.

***

He cleans up and lies back down. He pulls the blanket up around his shoulder and goes to roll over the other way, but something catches hie eye on the other table next to the bed. 

_Batting gloves._ Nolan knows they’re not his, or his brothers’. The size is wrong, just a hint too big for him, and the colors are…

“ _What?_ ” Nolan says, quiet at first, and then slightly louder, as he scrambles out of bed quickly. “What the _hell?_ ”

_White and navy blue._

And now he’s scared, backing gingerly away from the table like he expects a demon to jump out of the thing, and backs himself into the hallway, tripping over the place where the carpet gives way to the hardwood floor of the hall. He _always does this_ in his parents’ house, and he almost falls over clean onto his ass, but he feels someone catch him, a steadying grip beneath his underarms. Someone _strong._

“Whoa, there, cowboy.” Christian laughs. 

“I thought you’d sleep until fuckin’ December.”

And he _smiles._

_And just like that, Nolan is completely lost._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Rough sequel to "Eliminated."
> 
> Less alcohol was involved this time, but I got most of the ideas for this at 3AM, and everything just sort of ran off the rails from there. 
> 
> Title is from "Between the Bars" by Elliot Smith, and I realized it worked for something baseball-related too.
> 
> Obviously, this is fiction. No libel/harm/disrespect meant at all. 
> 
> No beta.


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